HVE-01: Reality's Phantasm
by Erithemaeus
Summary: [Spin-off to the Heroic Vessel series by ekaterina016] An abomination shunned by both sides of the Counter Force returns to deal with the rest of its ilk. As much as the Zeroth Vessel was considered as an experimental failure, humanity knows that deep into the depths of madness, only abominations can protect them from the others that lurk in the depths beyond human comprehension.
1. Chapter 1

Alaya faces It alone.

Floating on an artificer's masterpiece, the Will of Humanity moves through the enclosed space, phantom after curious phantom ringing through its ears.

This is a great risk Alaya took, coming here in the first place. The Will of Humanity took after its constituents, and had immediately jumped the gun when it came to the manufacturing process of Heroic Vessels. While later iterations had been further optimized to its specific standards, the first one of Its kind was... different, from the rest of Its siblings.

The Will of Humanity floats onto a pedestal, its borrowed body tensing from the sheer amount of vibrations coming from the space around it. Mechanisms unknown to man grind to a halt. Phantasmal forges crackle to a standstill. The lenses which frame the stars above halt, crack, and shatter under the sheer gaze of what has been laying beyond.

The zeroth Vessel. An abomination of Alaya's own doing. It has no name. It has no memories. It is simply It, a state of being itself.

A deep rumble echoes through the space, accompanied by trills of arrhythmic music. It sounds like scratching chalks against a board, muffled by a symphony of cymbals and chords of a fine-toothed guitar. It is a song played to its own measure, a rhythm which has none at all. The sheer alien-ness of the actual tones makes It so one cannot understand the sheer depth of Its words, and describe It in even the most mundane of details.

Its intentions are clear, however. The various eyes winking into existence tells of Its interest.

Some are dainty little things, held up by stalks of ethereal flesh oozing with hypnotic starlight. On and off they blink into existence, an unknown message delivered through various means, all of which one cannot comprehend. These eyes flit out and about, spritely in their manner yet mischievous like fairies, but there is a sheer sense of wrongness in the way they moved. Some flow like a squid. Others use ethereal stalks to move. The rest simply blip out and reappear at a different location an instant later.

All that pales in the sheer impossibility of the main eye.

It hangs over the skylight of the building, casting its shadow on different alcoves and pulpits. A single, hellish pupil casts its gaze down the intricate network of pipes, conveyors, and machinery, the surroundings fading away into a murky black mist, which soon coalesced solid. Spots all over the iris change color with each and every second, appearing as a sky of ever-changing colors staring down onto those below. It seems to radiate a holy light, a sanctified area shining down on all its gaze, and with a flash of light upon the entire murky darkness, everything changed.

Now, Alaya's borrowed body is in a field of knee-deep wheat. Each brush of golden ears of grain roots her to the spot, a spell cast upon most defiled and unknown levels of magic – and even as the warm facade fades away to reveal an inhuman orb, the imagery doesn't change. The eyes are still there. A window to a hellish realm stands far above the depths of the space the Will of Humanity is currently in.

Finally, Alaya speaks.

– We are in dire need of your assistance.

In response, a haunting song rings through the air. Violin strings seem to snap, coupled by the twist of a trumpet and the boom of a base. Years upon years upon years of knowledge gained through eldritch means are immediately brought to Its fingertips, and the eye above changes its orientation. A human-like pupil narrows into that of a dragon's, an unearthly shade of gold rippling through the air of Its realm. All of its eyes pause in their flutter, all staring at the Will of Humanity with a gaze of an entire trove of knowledge it will not understand. Unable to, at the very least.

– Your brethren. Your blood. It is reawakening. You of all know the consequences of what would happen should it be allowed to continue.

Haunted silence. The grass shifts once more, a fierce gale blowing through the field and uprooting scores of wheats. The bundle changes shape and form, a red glow forming through the vortex of material, and a screaming white follows seconds later and explods. Alaya's borrowed body stares, the object in front of it pulsating with power. Enough to kill one of Its brethren. Enough to kill Its siblings and family. But not Itself.

One does not simply underestimate a star.

– As they are, your siblings by association cannot stop them. They are far too weak. Too often they are chained by Gaia's law. You,however, are not. You are a paradox. A walking contradiction. You are needed.

Still, silence. It keeps on staring, Its realm dissolving away to reveal ethereal space. Each and every single atom Its own body pulses in an unknown message. Energy is sent. It does not return. Through the hellish eye of the first Heroic Vessel, Alaya meets Its gaze, daring to smite it – and the rest of Humanity with it – down.

Time has no meaning. There is only a state of being. One of the eyes morphs, shifts into a pale white figure. Unnamed. Unshaped. Untouched. It is both a message and a warning. And a rumble echoes through the realm even as Alaya gingerly holds a fraction of the Zeroth Vessel's power and disappears from its realm.

Once Humanity's Will has left, the realm shifts, revealing golden structures of leaden crystal shaped in pyramidal cylinders. Gaseous crystals shift between form and substance, shifting as It roils and burns through cracks in reality. It cannot care less about Humanity's state. It can care less about the dangers which follow them.

But first and foremost, It is, was, and will be a Vessel. A reservoir of power, devoid of purpose, devoid of name, devoid of right. Its assistance is merely an experiment to pass endless time, to peer upon the space beyond the unknown and into laws of reality itself. The Will of Humanity has proven its willingness, and thus It merely acquiesces to the favor.

A favor It will intend to collect for later – a favor from Humanity itself.

The realm snaps back into what it once was, an ever-infinite Hall of great automation. Once more, the skies above the skylight roil and turn, the pedestal waiting for another audience. Until then, It sleeps and observes. It sees and waits. As a Vessel devoid by purpose, a certain calling had to be found. One that of a purpose. Of a call.

Phantasmal realms sleep once more, devoid of any new happenings.

* * *

Expansive streets spread out from where I currently am, the lifeblood of a city filled with people from all walks of life. The sleepy streets of Trifas rouse for one last endeavor, exiting their homes and beginning their afternoon shopping at the markets. People mingle with one another, men and women frolic all around the city. The stark difference between the architecture and the people who live in it struck me as odd when I first came here, only for me to find out later on that the houses were dated at around the same time as Romania's feared leader rose to power.

A relatively recent blip on the time scale, then, or so what I will normally tell.

These buildings, however... They irk me. The same tingle going through my spine… which acts up whenever degraded magics cast around me choose to reveal themselves once more, as I pass by another bulking building made of stone and wood. There is no doubt this town reeked with degraded magics – both old and new – before an investigation leads me to the cause.

I stop before two individuals, both of indeterminate gender and wearing white and black clothing. The golden sigil of Yggdimillennia is pinned onto their vests, shining in the light with a gleam of only the finest gold, and their ruby red eyes lock onto me as soon as I stop in front of them. Expressions blank, with lips pressed into a neutral line, they stand guard in front of a limousine door – one holding the door while another stands with a halberd raized in the air. Passersby think of the pole arm as nothing more than a replica. Those with a keener eye for detail will see the halberd is undoubtedly real. Yet, even their eyes fail to register the simple fact these halberd – whether real or merely replica – are nothing more than slag for the forge which breathed them.

Still, I stop my thoughts from showing on my face, which is as impassive as it will ever be. I turn to face the two individuals, their postures lowering in response as they bow at the waist. "We hope your travels to Trifas are satisfactory, Sir Nro. We are to transport you towards the Yggdimillennia Castle, where you shall meet the rest of your companions and plan out the rest of Yggdimillennia's actions before the War begins."

A hum escapes my lips. These homunculi are efficient for my purposes, yet my eyes narrow at the unnatural shade of their eyes. It's most likely these homunculi are repurposed designs based off the Einzbern's own, which meant there has been a deal under the table... or that someone related to the creation process has shared the Einzbern secrets to Yggdimillennia. Both options are quite troubling, especially to the rest of the Yggdimillennia clan. I never tolerate those who have petty motives for copying another's work.

With a step, I enter the limousine, a blast of cool air rattling my hair for an instant before it instantly dies down. I sit by myself in the extensive back of the limousine, no one but myself and an expansive space of a minibar for comfort. Along with the drapes which covered the windows and the velvety seats, it is a symbol of Yggdimillennia's opulence, a way to lord over their power and influence over those below them.

Apparently, they think the same applied to me as well. Such a statement will change, depending on my future interactions with the family.

"Assassin."

My familiar emerges from smoke and shadow, obscuring the opulent view of the limousine's insides for but a single second, before an unseen wind washes it away. A haunting white mask meets my gaze, purified blue flames sputtering out from the inside of their horned helmet, and their broadsword and shield are currently stowed away, showing the figure's weathered breastplate and leather armor. Smoke seems to seep into their entire being, and all light seems to shy away from its grasp.

It's as if everything which touches the figure simply dies.

**[What use have you for me, Contractor?]**

"Scout the nearby area. Make sure we are not being followed."

Metaphorically speaking, it is a useless task. I can very well do the same task myself without much risk of the Moonlit World being discovered, but there is a good reason for my command. My familiar nods, a figure of respect from the very first _Ḥashīshī_, and with another burst of smoke, they are gone. All there is to worry about was the lack of aural entertainment on the way towards the castle.

A matter soon solved with a cassette player spitting out soft tunes.

It takes a few minutes, and when my familiar has reappeared back in the limousine's cabin, the vehicle has already stopped. My familiar nods, vanishing into smoke once more before the door leading outside opens, a homunculus holding the door open as I make my exit. I keep a tight hold of my belongings even as I turn to stare at the imposing structure of the Yggdimillennia castle, its stone walls casting an ominous light upon our vehicle.

"The throne room is this way, Sir Nro," another homunculus speaks up, one with a different design from before, yet still wearing the same dull expression as the rest of its siblings have.

I nod, following my homunculus guide through the castle's confusing layout, until I eventually arrive at a set of great doors. Carved with gold filigree and ebony black wood, their sheer regality stands in stark contrast to the whiteness of the castle's inner walls and the red banners breaking their monotonous texture.

Without preamble, the doors groan as they swing outward, and I step into the throne room with a hand at the ready. My familiar materializes, the heavy blade of a broadsword cutting into stone, and cold mist roiled out from my familiar's body as I stare at the rest of my current allies. My briefcase is held in an easy grip as I meet the gaze of the Heroic Spirit sitting on the throne, their all-knowing gaze staring me down and analyzing my every action. A grin splits their face a second later, a scepter striking down into soft carpet, and the figure rizes from his seat and holds out his arms.

"I would like to welcome you to Romania, the one they call 'Nro'. Do you find my domain to your liking?"

A knee hits the floor as I half-kneel, bowing once as per custom. "Thank you for inviting me here, Your Highness. Your faith in my abilities will not be misplaced."

* * *

I set down my briefcase on my bed, feeling the soft padding underneath me even as I remove my shoes and laid down onto heavenly comfort. My familiar materialized by the desk, blue flames sparking in an understanding light, yet continues to ask their question again in confirmation.

**[You are well-known in many circles, Contractor. If it was not for your true nature, then you might become a Heroic Spirit of the Shadows when you pass on.]**

"Does that displease you in any way?" I ask with a raized brow, sitting back up once more. My hand find purchase in my briefcase's latch, a push of a button revealing an ornately-carved flintlock and a stack of papers. "I thought all Servants under the Assassin class would always call upon the _Ḥashīshiyyīn_ to do their Master's bidding."

**[This one has found no fear of death within you. This one thinks you have conquered death, or such a concept is alien to you in some form or another. Nevertheless, all those who specialize in the shadows are under my eyes' watch. You would've passed this one's strict standards, Contractor.]**

My hand grasps the flintlock, feeling the familiar grip of the handle while runic arrays slowly lit up in response to my energy. Soon, the entire weapon is thrumming with power, runes upon runes inscribed upon its surface, and after a moment or two, all lights die out. I sheathe the flintlock onto the holster sewn upon my coat before I turn back towards my familiar. "I am honored, for the first _Ḥashīshī_ to deem me worthy of the title even in my lifetime."

**[Spare me your trifle, Contractor.]** My familiar speaks, slamming their broadsword onto the ground as wooden splinters shatter under the weight of the sword. [**I am familiar enough with your ways. We hunt when night falls, yes, but who should we go after first? I assume you have read up on your targets?]**

"Of course. It will be nothing but a disgrace for the profession otherwise," I reply in turn, bringing out the papers underneath the flintlock. "There is only information on the Masters of the opposite faction, however. We shall endeavor to discover their Servants and their abilities by ourselves."

**[And the others are to simply stay here in this castle of theirs?]** There is displeasure in my familiar's tone. While I am sure they knew this was the best choice out of numerous different ones, it may not have occurred to them to think of the current situation at hand.

"The rest of my allies' Servants are mainly geared towards defense of an area, or can be used to direct devastating pinpoint attacks against our opponent. It is only a matter of sound strategy to fortify this stronghold against possible intrusions by the other side." I ventured, and my familiar's eyes flickered in understanding."...therefore, it falls on us in order for the rest of our allies to be able analyze the Servants of our enemy. I hope you understand?"

**[Understood, Contractor.]** The light in their eye sockets fades even as they began to astralize. **[I shall be keeping watch outside. See to it our first outing yields a successful result.]**

I send a small smile my familiar's way, my gaze moving towards the stack of paperwork which I currently hold in my hand. In it was the list of all the prospective Masters of the Red Faction, listing down all their attributes and abilities which qualifies them for the prestigious honor of being allowed to participate in a Holy Grail War.

My eyes train themselves towards two particular individuals however: The Church's Overseer, and the necromancer whom the Clocktower has listed as the last participants from the Red Faction's side. Burning gold pupils stared into the two portraits as I memorize every inch of their profile, before reverting back to their natural brown, wherein I throw the two portraits onto the wall opposite me and burned the rest with a simple force of will. Slight pain courses through my body, but I ignore it while pinning the portraits on the wall with a knife each.

By Alaya's will, I shall do what I can to restore balance to a destroyed future. Whether by going after a previous Vessel's consort or not. I am a weapon, after all. Carved from the essence of an alien god and tainted with humanity. I shall do what needs to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: HVE-01 follows the ending of HVS-01, but happens before HV-S02. No Atalanta goodness, I suppose.**

**Additionally, aside from a few embellishments in order to form the background of this story, the events that happened before the story proper begins does not follow the supplementary materials released earlier this year. The story's background is mostly based on historically-verified myths and legends of the Mesopotamian era, save for said embellishments. No need to rage at me for not following canon Nasuverse events in reviews.**

**That's all. I hope that you enjoy the story.**

* * *

I am currently standing on top of a building, hidden by the shadows behind a stone chimney. Down below, I watch a knight in a distinctive feminine and body-hugging red armor mow down various amounts of homunculi and golems the Yggdimillennia has dispatched to their position. To be frank, I wonder how on earth that revealing and flashy armor set hasn't produced several 'accidents' yet, but I chalk it up to a Servant's peculiarities. Not too far from the armored knight, I see one of the targets whom I had pinned on the castle walls, weaving and ducking under waves of arrows while using every dirty trick in the book to stay alive. Quite a resourceful individual, this individual known as Shishigou Kairi; I am tempted to recruit him to the cause, if it isn't for the fact we are on different sides of the current conflict.

A sigh escapes my lips. Woe is me.

**[Contractor, a flying sword is headed for your position. Shall I intercept and engage?]**

"Do it," I quietly order, not even batting an eye at the sound of clanging metal resounding a few meters away. "Draw their attention. Get into battle if you have to. Don't show your Noble Phantasm." A smile forms on my lips. "Fight like a Saber-class Servant, if you have to. At this stage, misdirection is key. Though I have faith in your abilities in the sword to be more than a match for that crass barbarian."

**[Orders received. Will this charm of yours work perfectly, Contractor?]**

"Yes, it will. Although I may not be able to hold my own against you in my current state, my skill in the arts of the craft would be able to bridge the gap." I feel the presence beside me disappear, the first _Ḥashīshī_ appearing in the middle of the road with smoke billowing from its robes, broadsword and shield held at the ready. A thin smile forms on my lips, even as I take a gander and stare out into the ensuing chaos, my own flintlock held with its hammer cocked.

"It seems it's time to test what I've learned so far."

My breath quickens, swiveling myself with flintlock aimed at Shishigou Kairi and pulling the trigger. A loud bang echoes through the air as the shot pierces through brick, a muffled curse being uttered from my lips while I take cover and reload. Just in time, projectiles pass by me at subsonic speeds, stopping on a dime and changing their trajectories towards me. A quick analysis indicates they were simply overcharged Gandr curses, and I ignore the curse washing over my body as I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the pain.

––– _**מסלול**__**!**_

Pain shoots through my body, coursing through every nerve and cell while I convulse for half a second, the contradiction brought upon by the spell slowly being mended by Gaia's law. A wheeze escapes my lips while I stagger forwards into the light, finding myself staring into Shishigou Kairi's gun. A bang flashes from its barrel, putting two rounds of magically-enhanced bullets into my chest, but my coat holds nonetheless. In retaliation, I cocked back the hammer on my flintlock, focusing on the signal flare my spell had wrought, and pulled the trigger.

A burst of light escapes _my_ barrel this time, all of it headed straight towards Shishigou Kairi. He manages to take cover in the last instant, as the bullet blows off a corner post of a stone building and spitting rubble all over the street. Still, he hasn't come out unscathed –the mercenary's gun arm is now lightly singed from the amount of energy directed towards him, an expression of pure agony on his face while the smell of lightly-tinged flesh begins wafting up my nose.

That was the lowest output of my flintlock. I may need to do some adjustments in the long run if I don't want to carve out a few more runes later on in the War's proper. "I might have to jot that one down..."

We both take cover once more to recover our breaths, and I glance towards my coat to see two human fingers poking at the part of the coat which covers my heart. I take both of them out with a disgusted expression on my face (who makes bullets out of _fingers, _of all things?!), crushing them under my boot as I aim my flintlock upwards and fire the weapon into the air. Coupled with the tracking spell I had casted a while back, the beam of light which came out of my weapon swerves mid-air at the speed of light, instantly lashing out in order to strike at Shishigou Kairi once more.

He manages to take cover once again, the beam of light boring a smoking hole through the wall of another house. An aggrieved sigh escapes my lips while I curse at myself once more, clocking the flintlock's hammer back and firing again. Again. Again. And again. All the while a symphony of metal clanging against one another echoed across the streets. At this rate, nothing would happen. This entire encounter would only result in a stalemate.

Or so I thought, before my familiar's opponent grasps their sword with both hands and starts crackling with an ominous light.

Somehow, I can only blame my nonexistent luck for this.

* * *

**[Contractor, I highly suggest we retreat from this battle. Unless you want me to reveal my Noble Phantasm, then staying here is a mere death sentence.]**

My familiar has a point. A very good one, even, since I am not sure as to whether or not _that sword_ has an off-switch. Then again, why use it when their Master is just a few meters close by? "It's a diversion. Keep up the pressure. There is no way this Saber-class Servant will use their Noble Phantasm when their Master is within the firing line. If you manage to negate the Noble Phantasm's activation, we acquire both the name of the Heroic Spirit we are fighting against, and the upper hand when it comes to future engagements. There is no actual risk aside from property and structural damage."

My familiar becomes silent, even as I start to move across the rooftops to reposition myself for another shot at Shishigou Kairi. After what seems like an eternity, they finally answer. **[A fair assessment of the current situation, Contractor. This one approves of your current location. I shall endeavor to cut off the opponent's focus to negate their Noble Phantasm.]**

"Good," I answer in return, storing my flintlock back into the inside of my coat, before pulling out a rune-covered stiletto. With the tracking spell combined with my mind's eye, I am able to point out as to where my target currently is, finding Shishigou Kairi on the second floor of another stone building, slumped over against a meter-thick cover with bated breath.

Silence continues to fill the air while I enter the house housing my target, the blade of my stiletto gleaming against the stray bits of moonlight landing upon it. A quick glance around the building tells me the main pathways are trapped and would alert my target to any kind of disturbance, thus allowing him to escape. It was a good thing I have managed to pin him down earlier, lest he would've booby-trapped the house in far greater numbers.

I stop at the spot directly below Shishigou Kairi's current position, aiming the blade of my stiletto upwards before flicking it with a quick movement of my wrist. Wood splinters as the sound of metal piercing flesh rings through my ears, and I quickly jump upwards in order to check on my quarry with flintlock drawn and ready.

Shishigou Kairi is stuck to the wall, the stiletto piercing through the shoulder of his good arm. Couple his current state with his other arm being partially fused to his clothing, and he was all but incapacitated. There is no reason to gloat, however. The job always comes first before any personal views. "Huh. So that's why the Clock Tower can't get ahold of you. It seems you've been working for the other side, Helel."

"Damnable code name aside, I truly have nothing personal against you, Shishigou Kairi. You're simply on the other side, that's all." I bring the barrel of the flintlock flush to his forehead, cocking the hammer back for the nth time in one night. "For all that's worth, I enjoyed our little chats."

"Saber, _**COME!**_"

I pull the trigger, but the beam of light is deflected by the gleaming edge of a sword headed right towards my face. I take a step back, using my flintlock to deflect the thrust of the newly-summoned Servant's sword, and pushed the red-clad female knight into a deadlock she can't win.

She lashes out with a kick, only to be stopped cold by my free arm. Her moment of surprise proves to be her undoing as I slam my foot into the side of her head, but she craftily uses the momentum to take her Master away at the same time, partially blocking the kick with her shoulder, pushing both she and Shishigou Kairi out of the building and back into the street, rubble falling around them as I begin assessing the damages.

My gaze falls upon the knight, her hair ruffled by that blow. Naturally, there's not even a scratch on her – she's not even winded after facing my familiar – and her head, full of golden hair, reveals itself into the moonlight. Viridian green eyes stare at me with a considered expression, hefting her sword onto her shoulder while my familiar materializes by my side once more. Knowledge from Akasha floss through me in that single instant, and my eyes narrow at the name of the Heroic Spirit in front of me.

Familiar, yes. A result of another Heroic Vessel's meddling against the tapestry of humanity's future. It only makes Shishigou Kairi a more dangerous opponent, if she has an inkling of my capabilities, and what more I can offer. Sadly, this only puts him on top of my list of priorities. At the very least, however, this information is a welcome surprise. If this War manages to keep me on my toes, then it will train me to never be complacent.

"We're leaving," I mutter to my familiar beside me, ignoring the flickering blue flames rising from their sockets. I meet my opponent's gazes, giving them a slight nod of acknowledgment just as my familiar produces the charm stored within his robes and runs his energy through it.

A vermillion flash occupies the space where we just were, though that's more of a warning shot from the Red Saber than a proper attempt at an attack.

Smoke billows through the air as we transferred towards an anchor point just in front of the Yggdimillennia castle, leaving none of our trace behind, just as we appear in the midst of our allies.

As was customary, I meet the gaze of the Prince of Wallachia, half-kneeling a second later before bowing at the waist. "I have returned from my task. While the elimination of Shishigou Kairi and his Servant was unsuccessful, I have gathered enough information to tell the identity of the Saber-class Servant of the Red Faction."

"Speak. While one cannot expect an elimination of an opposing Servant's faction immediately, the fact you had managed to deduce the identity of one of the Red Faction's Servants is worth its weight in gold."

I rise to meet the impassive stare of Vlad the Impaler, already anticipating the reactions of the rest of my allies. No doubt, it will require a careful bit of planning in order to make sure the Saber of Red will be too weak to be able to put up a fight. Luckily, I have ensured the first step to be a success.

"Mordred Pendragon. The Saber of Red's name is _Mordred Pendragon_."


	3. Chapter 3

Jeanne d' Arc sits upon a rock overlooking the town of Trifas. After her encounter with the Lancer of Red one night before, she has been wary of going into crowded places out of a well-founded fear for collateral damage. While she knows the rest of the Servants in the War have enough honor in them to avoid such horrid tactics, the same can sadly not be said for their Masters. And even as Jeanne hopes for a better outcome for humanity, she knows some of them have become monsters of their own making… nothing more than an alien beast to exterminate in the name of humanity's will.

She opens her eyes, taking in a deep breath. The main reason she is currently here is to ruminate upon her latest vision brought on by her [Revelation] skill. Originally, her main objective was to make contact with the Overseer of this War, but the sudden vision which forced her awake was more than enough to sideline that objective in favor of her current vision. She can still see the image at the back of her mind every time she closes her eyes – an all-consuming void of knowledge she can neither comprehend nor understand, engorging itself upon other smaller abominations. Its nature is unclear. Its motives are unknown. But from what Jeanne can see from the faint glimpses of her vision, she knows one thing to be absolutely true.

That... _abomination to human knowledge_ was most definitely protecting humankind against something. Which of course, begged the next obvious question: _What are humanity's current enemies?_

Her eyes turn to steel, the influence of Alaya's will imposing itself upon her senses. Inhuman knowledge belonging to times and places past, as well as future experiences, flow through her mind, yet only very few precious drops of information has been stored into her very being. A second later, her eyes open to their normal shade, leaving her staggering as she materializes her flag to lean against with bated breath.

Another vision passes. That of the murky depths, filled with an _otherness _which can only belong to those living in the blackest and deepest reaches of the sea. The vision shows her a drowned temple, layers of brick and mortal with rune upon Magic al rune glowing tirelessly in order to contain the being who resides within. Her vision continues, showing a funnel of stars leading into a deep hole into the ground, concentrated starlight being focused into an object of great power. From the object comes a pulse of energy, disturbing the soft sand which settles upon a sunken temple and dislodging brick, stone, and Magic alike. Threads designed to hold _something _in place unravel in an instant, and a horrid wail shakes the earth, as the ancient figure rises from the deep once more, eyes and appendages gleaming with alien knowledge which promised never-ending pain, suffering, and torment for the rest of humanity-

_'Breathe. It was merely a vision.'_

Yet seeds of doubt still plant themselves onto her mind. If a vision of humanity's opponent is able to overpower her Magic Resistance and leave her frozen in fear, as if she's nothing more than an _ant..._

The end of the vision flashes through her mind once more, a dying ember at the bottom of a cold lantern. A faceless figure holds it against an unceasing tide of darkness, the light beginning to shine with a blinding glow as brightness ravaged the dark, leaving naught but grey flecks of light in its wake. It is there the vision ended, and Jeanne digs her flag deeper into the soil while she releases a harsh breath. Cold mist lingers upon her face before the gears in her mind turn, poring over the memories of the vision to the best of her ability.

A clue. A clue to ensure humanity's future. All residing in a lantern held by a faceless figure. One which brings light to an encroaching darkness...

A light-bearer.

Her first clue found, Jeanne raises her head to meet the sun's comforting gaze head-on. A symbol of light to conquer the reign of darkness. Even as the advance of science proves the sun is but insignificant against a greater tapestry, the Maid of Orleans still knows it represents an unforgettable symbol. One which embodies warmth and the light.

Along with humanity's future.

* * *

Shishigou Kairi once again finds himself in that damnable church. As much as his Servant tells him to be wary of this place (and he trusts her instinct, for sure), there was no other choice for communication between the two parties. Even sending a message by more modern means have a chance of being tracked by their opponent. The individual known as 'Nro' will surely have spies and contacts placed alongside every post office going in and out of the country, as well as a signal backer or two along the local radio tower, ready to intercept calls at any given time.

What about the Internet, then? Well, even Kairi has to admit he's no expert in that department, despite knowing how to use it – he's certainly not enough of an expert to be able to prevent anything leaking out from his end. The information has to be delivered by person. It was the only way to make sure said information isn't compromised.

It isn't to say Shishigou likes the experience, however. He _hates_ interacting with the priest.

"It is glad to see you once more in the Lord's dwelling, Shishigou Kairi," the priest intones, turning around half a step with the same genial smile on his face. "Have you reconsidered my proposal and have come to establish a working relationship with the rest of the Masters of Red?"

"My answer to that is still no," Shishigou replies in turn, a taciturn frown on his face as he sends his Servant to check the nearest pew of any poisons. Once he gets a confirmation from his Servant the pew was free of any contaminants, he sits down, the wooden furniture creaking under his weight. "I came here to deliver information. Consider this a freebie and a warning, considering who we're going up against here."

For once, the priest raises an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "And this enemy is...?"

"Helel."

Kotomine Shirou stops in his tracks, amber eyes growing wide as dinner plates. Shishigou wishes he has brought a camera in order to record the expression on the Overseer's face, but it'll take too much time and was undoubtedly a hassle for future events, considering the lengths he'll go through in order to protect that picture.

Eventually, the shock wears off from the priest's face, replaced by a serious frown which is directed towards Shishigou. "The fallen angel?"

"Wrong one, although you can be mistaken for not knowing what he does," Shishigou replied, leaning forward with a narrow gaze, "His name is 'Nro'. A freelancer and a mercenary like me, comparable to the Magus Killer in his prime. His code name is 'Helel', due to once being a scion of a magus who took on a mercenary lifestyle, using his family's Magecraft to fire beams of light from his Mystic Code. I don't know what it does to this day, but I've got a few ideas."

Shishigou removes his jacket, exposing his right arm to the priest. Blisters had sprung up along random areas of his arm, coupled with places where the skin has been burnt off and showing off the muscles which lay underneath. Shishigou could still feel the incessant need to scratch a few places on his arm, even though the sensations were incredibly muted by his Magecraft and where his skin was beginning to peel off. It's a grisly sight, one which will have normal men disgusted at the sight of it, and the pus coming out of some open wounds simply makes the entire arm look even worse.

"These are caused by just some glancing shots. I was even behind cover, yet this still happened."

Kotomine Shirou frowns, walking towards Shishigou to take a closer look at his injuries. "These injuries seem dire," he comments, stopping about a meter short of Shishigou's position. "Aside from your external injuries, there seems to be some widespread tissue damage which is slowly spreading across your body. I do not know what Mystic Code this 'Helel' used, but I can assume it is most likely devastating to use against other magi like yourself."

Shishigou meets the Overseer's gaze, a bout of confusion on the necromancer's face while staring at the priest's outstretched right arm. "What are you supposed to do? Heal it?"

"Well, what else did you think?" Kotomine Shirou replies back with a tilted head, though Shishigou can see the faint hints of a smile on the priest's face. With a sigh, Shishigou extends his right arm towards the priest's own, a light green glow overcoming the priest's arm as the visible damages to Shishigou's begin to heal. "I'd like you to tell me everything about this 'Helel' as payment for this. Would that be alright with you?"

"No problem," Shishigou replies back, leaning back with an agonized sigh and a pinched nose. Information is a relatively cheap price for the restoration of an arm, especially since the rest of the Red Faction must fight against 'Helel's' Servant in the future, if they want a shot at victory. "His Servant was about three meters tall with a white mask which oozed out blue flames. Smoke seemed to come out from every opening on the Servant's body, and they wielded a claymore and a tower shield. It's possible they're from the Saber-Class, given their relatively high parameters to be able to contend with my Servant so easily. That Servant, however, is slightly more skilled than my own."

Shishigou ignores the indignant _'Hey!' _from the back of his mind. While he has no idea how much skill does each individual Servant have in battle, he has gotten the feeling that Servant was holding back for whatever reason. It's a concerning thought.

"You haven't seen their Noble Phantasm?" The priest asks, and Shishigou turns to look at his arm in surprise, as it's already about three-quarters healed.

A sigh escapes Shishigou's lips while shaking his head. "No. I was too busy on keeping myself alive to get a glimpse of the Servant's Noble Phantasm. Saber?"

His Servant manifests beside him, her floral dress, bereft of its outer plate protection, billowing in an invisible gust. She stands at the ready with arms crossed over her chest. Shishigou can feel the scowl embedded on her face without turning around. "I haven't gotten a lick out of their Noble Phantasm, sorry. That guy's goading me into releasing mine, though I'm afraid a well-read Master would've been able to guess my identity from my face alone. The next time I see that bastard, though..."

The priest nods, causing Saber of Red to astralize once more. The Pendragon lineage is alive well into the present, though no longer closely associated with the Crown of England. Their family heads are famous for being exacting copies of each other every few generations or so… or at least their facial features, though they each have their own personalities and abilities, distinct from their great ancestors.

In fact, Kairi almost face-planted when he first saw Mordred's face, as it's incredibly similar to a young girl he used to work with – the latest heir to the Pendragon clan – when he's on missions with Lord El-Melloi II.

The priest releases Shishigou's arm, the latter staring at a relatively unblemished arm with surprise coloring his face. "It seems we are currently at an impasse as to whether or not we know the identity of this 'Saber of Black'. I take it this was the only reason you have come here?"

"Yeah," Shishigou agrees with a nod. "Now that you got the news, we'll be on our way out."

"I see." The Overseer crosses his arms, a considering expression on his face. "Coupled with this new enemy, you are still refusing to ally with us?"

"We'll be fine," Shishigou replies with a wave, rising up from the pew and heading towards the church doors. "We got surprised the first time, that's all. It won't happen again. I'll make sure of it myself."

"See to it that you do, then," Kotomine Shirou says, a light twinkle in his eye. "For now, I would like to say farewell to the both of you."

"Appreciated. We'll see you around."

The doors to the church close, leaving behind Kotomine Shirou standing in front of it. A few moments pass before a figure materializes around him, a divinely-beautiful figure sitting at one of the pews around the church. "Interesting, isn't it? To have such information simply fall into your hands the moment you question your vision. Nanshe must be hard at work."

Kotomine Shirou sighs, a hand covering their face as they begin to adjust their plans once more. "This changes nothing. The Palace should be done in two more days; thus, we have until that time period to figure out who this 'Nro' is, and why he is known as the light-bearer. With proper motivation, we may even convince him to switch to our side."

Slender hands curve around the priest's shoulders. "And when you are unable to?"

The vision flashes through the Overseer's mind once more, a humanoid figure stepping out of the blackened depths as inhuman eyes stare onto the shoreline. The beginnings of a new age. A storm of knowledge that man cannot comprehend, and one which Gaia cannot withstand. ORT shall rise from its slumber, only to be defeated as well. Even the greatest Magicians come out of hiding to lay the figure low, but can only procure a scratch on its entire incomprehensible existence, before dying like chaffs.

A sharp breath escapes his lips, even as he pushes down the memory of that terrifying vision down into the darkest depths of his mind. Amber eyes slowly come into focus, staring at the engraving on the church door which tells of a bearer of light plowing through a sea of black. Humanity cannot give up now. Not when it is currently living its darkest hours.

"We do whatever it takes."

For humanity's continued survival, anything was permitted, because nothing is true.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Chapters 2-4 have been revamped to include some additional information about the future rewrite if HVS-01, more of them pertaining to Mordred and her descendants. There's also a tiny little Easter egg that ekaterina016 put in there somewhere. Hope you guys find it after combing through the chapters...again.**

**In any case, enjoy. Things are beginning to spice up.**

* * *

"Another mission?"

"Yes," the magus in front of me says, barring my entry into the throne room with narrowed eyes. I have come here immediately upon hearing the summons of Lancer of Black, only to be stopped by Darnic Preston Yggdimillennia. It may be due to the fact the rest of the Black Faction are currently adjusting their plans, given the identity of Saber of Red.

It isn't every day a legend can surpass one another in their lifetime, but that was what Mordred Pendragon has done. Her legend eclipsed her father's own, for whence Arthur Pendragon was known for reuniting the lands of Briton, it was Mordred who had made sure the fledgling country had a solid base for further economic and military growth. Britain prospered under her rule, the islands known today as Scotland and Wales ceding authority towards her at the peak of it. Even some parts of European shores directly facing the great fledgling kingdom, such as the Viking's North Sea Empire and the Kingdom of Burgundy, did the same. Only a few generations after her passing did the cracks in Britain's leadership start to show, eventually leading to the fracture of Camelot, as most of the once-great Great Britain – pardon the pun – descended into chaos after a power struggle and civil war as to who had the right claim onto the throne.

I blame the Heroic Vessel who consorted her for having too many descendants, though of course that fact was hidden to historians through Alaya's work.

Aside from that time period, however, history continued on its course. Mordred Pendragon had been elevated to the highest ranks of Heroic Spirits, and Britain once more flourished into a global power before their colonies began receding in the early stages of the twentieth century. Still, the country was a force to be reckoned with, as the Second World War showed with their nigh-unstoppable navy.

It's a shame the Crown lost favors with her bloodline, which remains to this very day, as the politically-inclined branch of her immediate descendants quickly pushed aside the more magically-gifted one in a greed for power. Naturally, the Pendragon's draconic traits and abilities were passed down through the latter, and the former became the current British royal line. Those descendants spread across Europe, flitting in and out of history, with their last main branch settling in Hungary through the Báthory family.

Eventually, they did return to London, but the current main head, Elizabeth – still alive and kicking after several centuries and wars – holds most of the power. She's chosen an heir, apparently, whom I've seen several times when I visited Clock Tower, though that little girl still smells like piss and snot, unfitting to lead a clan as ancient and powerful as this. She's even deemed permissible to carry the 'Pendragon' surname, which befuddles me and most magi in the Clock Tower when even Elizabeth denied that luxury to herself across the years.

Now, going back to Mordred. Unfortunately, the same ruler who has catalyzed and kick-started Britain's progress by a century or so is fighting against the Black Faction, pouring every ounce of her strength into toppling her enemies and taking any prizes for her own. For the rest of the Black Faction, she is the nightmare who begins sneaking into their dreams and stays there, until they could find a solution. Until then, however, I was all but paralyzed, unable to do anything, as those who hired me are running around the castle like headless chickens.

This may be the justification for Darnic's orders to set me off and subdue Berserker of Red. I know better, however. My mere presence is a threat to the entirety of the Black Faction if we ever manage to win against the Red Faction. Seeing as I am merely a hired mercenary, it's only natural they'll be paranoid about my actions – with me only receiving orders from the leader of the Black Faction.

However, it still doesn't erase the bitter taste inside of my mouth.

**[Contractor, may I share my thoughts about your current situation?]**

"Speak," I command, my eyes narrowing into a frown as we reach the expansive forest which surrounds the Yggdimillennia castle. My familiar appears by my side, smoke billowing out from underneath their robes, and the blue flames which framed their eye sockets twinkle in amusement. Their broadsword and tower shield wait in their hands, gripped tightly even as the mask faces me.

**[Indecision does not suit you, Contractor. Now, hand over thy head.]**

My eyes narrow in suspicion, even as the flames in my familiar's eyes flash once more. A scowl forms on my face even as I pull my flintlock from its holster, cocking the hammer back as the tingle at the bottom of my spine begins roaring in intensity. "I can't believe you're joking. Do you have any idea as to what your order would think if your successors ever found out you have a sense of humor? They would be asking you to hand over your head."

**[And I shall take their heads in turn.]**

"You are most definitely insane," I mutter under my breath, even as the ground around us began shaking as we slowly approach the zone where Berserker of Red was currently rampaging around. A soft sigh escapes my lips as I bring out my rune-enchanted stiletto as well, pushing my heels together as I ready myself for a fight against a Servant. "Never have I seen such a complete reversal in attitude ever since we had come back from the engagement with Saber of Red. The charm might have some side-effects, after all."

**[The ability to keep one's spirits afloat is an invaluable skill. I simply have a different method to express it. As do you.] **We stop at the edge of the clearing, smoke billowing from underneath my familiar's mask as they tighten their grip around their weapons. **[Shall I do the deed?]**

"Let me get a few punches in first," I reply, loosening my limbs while taking a step back and readying my weapons. "Unlike you, I have been feeling a little miffed at the lack of activity lately. You'll have the chance to pummel this idiot to the ground later." I slyly glance towards the forest around us, performing a cursory glance just in case there was anyone else, before lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "...or, at the very least, this idiot's reinforcements."

My familiar's eyes flash a splendid blue, before astralizing back into the shadows of the forest, already seeking out their prey. As for me, I step forward into the clearing, a thin smile on my face as I wave my hand with a smile. "Hello, there. Would you like to sit down and talk about destroying private property without express permission? It'll only take a few moments of your time, I promise."

Berserker of Red stops, the hulking mass of meat swiveling towards me with an unsettling grin on his face. A second later, he raises an ebony sword and rushes at me, wearing that same smile on his face all the time. "Oppressor! You shall face the wrath of the almighty Spartacus!"

...well, obtaining his True Name isn't particularly hard at all, is it? The Heroic Spirit's legend flows through me while I take a half-step back and let the sword pass by my face, ducking low and firing my flintlock right at the man's right hip joint. A deafening blast rings through the air as I quickly whirl around and kick Berserker of Red to the side, sending him hurtling through a thicket of trees while I finished assimilating the information about the Heroic Spirit.

Most importantly, their Noble Phantasm.

I glance towards the dismembered right leg in front of me, a pool of blood forming around it. For what it was worth, I made the right call when I still didn't have the necessary decision. Although… it would never excuse the fact I have just fed Berserker of Red's Noble Phantasm.

"Come and face my wrath, Oppressor!"

A gray blur careens out of the grove of trees, Berserker of Red's sword moving in a blur while I step to the side and let the Heroic Spirt over-extend. I move in for a kick once more, only for him to block the movement with the flat of his blade, a manic grin on his face. I sigh, my arm moving to throw the stiletto I currently have in my right hand, and Berserker of Red tries to catch it with his free hand.

He isn't very successful. The blade whines, easily piercing through his skin and carrying along his body, pinning him to a nearby tree. I take a deep breath, nerves pulsing in anticipation of pain, and I utter another spell to keep the mad Servant chained and unable to escape.

_**-**__**לאגד**__**!**_

My vision turns black as searing heat scorched through my body from the inside out, a hiss of pain escaping my lips as I try to keep myself from falling over. Once more, Gaia mends the rift in her Marble Phantasm, and I gasp for breath as the sudden pain disappears, leaving me cold as if I am suddenly dipped into a bath of ice. A cough rankles my throat as I stare at Berserker of Red, his mouth and the rest of his joints bound by a golden, shimmering chain. For an instant, I let down my guard, slumping forward in relief just as the clanging of metal resounded through my ears. Beside me, an arrow impaled itself into the earth, ancient steel glinting in the afternoon light.

A shadow fell over me, blue flames flickering to life at the edge of my vision. **[You have let your guard down, Contractor.]**

"I would've survived that. There was no need to protect me," I reply back, sighing as I stagger back up and make my way towards the incapacitated Berserker of Red. Placing one of my charms on him, I snap my fingers and transport him back to the Yggdimillennia's throne room, leaving me alone in the middle of a forest with no one but my familiar… and another attacker.

With a sigh, I turn back towards my nearby surroundings, weapons held at the ready. "Alright, I do think that's enough playing around. At the very least, we accomplished our objective. I'll leave it up to you if we're still chasing those who attacked us."

My familiar stabs their tower shield into the ground, more of a confirmation than anything else. They must've been itching for some action as well.

"...fine. Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Achilles dodges the first blow, the broadsword rending the ground underneath him into two as he takes a step back and thrusts his spear towards the gap in the Servant's plate armor. A tower shield blocks his spear's path, however, and he grunts as the momentum of his thrust was stopped cold, with numbness beginning to spread against his good arm. He sees the flash of steel underneath the shield, and Achilles takes another step back...

...into a sword swung right at his neck.

His eyes widen for barely a second before his reflexes kick into overdrive, swinging his spear in a wide arc behind him and warding off the blade which was supposed to take off his head. Once he's clear, Achilles sprints back a few meters away from his opponent, guard at the ready as he heard the dull 'thunk' of his opponent's shield hitting the forest floor.

Green eyes narrow in concern, the main reason being the wetness at his nape. A hand touches the area and draws back, revealing a patch of blood on his hand, and a grimace forms on his face. His opponent either has Divinity themselves, or has a skill or Noble Phantasm suitable or powerful enough to pierce through the protection of the Styx. His protection won't be enough to break even.

The Hero of the Trojan War takes a harsh breath, expelling it with a scowl as he extends his arm into the air around him in order to materialize his shield. The moment it's in his hands, however, a sudden force smashes against his shield, the surprise attack dropping his guard for an instant, before his opponent capitalized on his posture and swung inside his guard, a trail of blue fire leading towards their previous position.

Clashes of metal can be heard all around the forest, accompanied by the cacophonous sounds of arrows whirling through the air and gunfire. It takes Achilles no time to deduce his partner was currently occupied with someone else. Maybe it's another Servant? He doubts that anyone using those firesticks would be able to catch Atalanta much less wound her.

He doesn't have time to think, however. Once more, his opponent reappears by his side, swinging their tower shield at his face. Achilles leans back, letting the shield pass over his face, only for his leg to spasm in pain as a broadsword followed through an instant later. Blood splattered the forest floor as he brings his injured leg back, spear at the ready once more, and manages to block the thrust of a sword aimed towards his shoulder. It doesn't help him with the shield bash which followed straight after, however, but luckily, his shield manages to soften the blow as he tumbles through a few thickets back into the forest.

His senses expand into overdrive as Achilles becomes overwhelmed by the sound of nature, his ears straining for any type of action out of the ordinary. It isn't that hard to filter out the sounds of the forest, his ears instead searching for the telltale sound of plate armor clinking against any other object which comes into contact with it, but... nothing.

There is _nothing_ waiting for him, even when he opens his eyes a moment later.

Blood pales from his face when he realizes he has been tricked. Turning towards where he left his partner on overwatch, he rushes through the forest, the wind blasting off the leaves of the trees which just so happened to be in the way. He arrives at the area just as he sees those blue flames of his opponent flicker from a nearby branch, smoke emanating from the depths of its robes, before melting back into the surrounding foliage. The rustling of leaves from above catches his attention, and he cranes his neck upwards, just in time to catch Atalanta falling through the trees, blood and leaves matting her hair and the rest of her body.

His eyes widen as she turns towards him with weak and feeble fingers, blood spurting out from her jugular every time her heart – the universal replacement for a Servant's spiritual core – continues to beat. A smile forms on her face as she reaches her hand to grasp his cheek, even as it falls slack a second later. Shock settles upon his features as she slowly dissipates into motes of light, his knees hitting the forest floor with a soft thud.

He swears revenge against his opponent, his fists shaking in barely-constrained rage, even as he echoes the last word his sister mouthed to him before her final breath. A renowned Heroic Spirit like her, killed by a mere shadow? It was humiliating. Not only for her, but for himself as well. Achilles has always prided himself on being one of the fastest heroes alive...yet he could not save Archer of Red in time.

A hoarse laugh echoes through his throat, hands reaching out to the last note of blue light before it dissipates into ether. The Hero of the Trojan War continues to stare at the canopy of the forest around him, a memory of his past life coming to the fore. Of a dear friend being killed in unceremonious combat, dying by the hands of a cowardly wimp.

Rage floods his vision in an instant, a roar of bestial rage coming to the fore as he screams the name of his friend's killer. It was a curse of revenge; a curse of finality. That he would do anything in his power to see his revenge exacted upon with greater vengeance.

"ASSASSIN...!"


	5. Chapter 5

There is barely any rest. The moment my familiar and I transfer ourselves back into the castle, we are informed our presence is required in the throne room. A part of me protests at the blatant bias of tasks assignment and load management from my current superiors, yet another, more insidious part of my mind whispers of opportunities presenting themselves, of a way to an easier victory. Somehow, I find myself standing alongside the rest of the Masters of Black, watching as Vlad Tepes III swirl a glass of vintage wine around his throne. He meets each of our gazes, eyes searching for something, only to come short as he shakes his head and slams his wine glass onto his arm rest.

It would seem like he was weeding out potential candidates for... _something. _What that is, I am not sure. However, it's a stare reeking of suspicion and distrust. "Someone has hidden the homunculus from our sight. Is anyone willing to answer for their mistakes?"

The rest of the Black Faction turns towards each other, exchanging suspicious and malicious glares. My spine tingles, the telltale sign of the craft being used, and I all slowly glance around the room to see a few of them readying their spells at me. In response, my familiar manifests, a haze of smoke spilling out from their robes, and they stab both their sword and shield into the floor as blue flames wildly flared at the approaching threats. In an instant, all the Servants of the Black Faction materialize, aiming their weapons at my familiar, all the while I stare at the figure on the throne with a blank expression.

"You are blaming me for this, even though Darnic had sent me out to ensure the elimination of Berserker of Red?" I raise a brow to emphasize my point, causing the Prince of Wallachia to glance towards his Master in response. Darnic nods in confirmation, yet the palpable sense of tension in the room still remained. "Additionally, I have no idea as to what you are talking about. A homunculus? What makes it so special from the rest of the homunculi stationed around the castle?"

At my questions, the tension in the room slowly ceded. There was still suspicion floating around in the air, but it's now mostly out of caution, instead of paranoia. "I see… so it was neither you nor your Servant who had the spare time to do something like this." Lancer of Black says, stroking his chin while humming and staring off into the distance. "...very well. It would seem like this incident was caused by somebody else among the ranks."

Darnic stills, gripping his cane with more force than usual. "My lord, you would insinuate someone from my family would sabotage our efforts?"

"I am pleased with the commitment of your clan for winning this War against the Red Faction. However, I do not trust in their Servants, unless proven worthy." Vlad Tepes the III narrows his eyes at his fellow Servants, suspicion plainly clear on his face. "Someone with a moral compass strong enough to do it. Someone who is free-spirited enough to ignore the rules I have set for this faction. Someone who is stupid enough to disregard the ramifications of the strategy we had planned in order to fight back against the Red Faction's might."

All of the others turn towards a certain spot in the throne room, while I stare at Lancer of Black in confusion. Who were they talking about, really?

"Rider of Black! Speak now or forever hold your silence in the dungeons!"

A sheepish figure astralizes in the middle of the crowd, scratching the back of their head. While they _did _look like a bumbling idiot, it didn't take away from the fact I couldn't identify their true gender, even with the vast reserves of Akasha in my grasp. It was like a Schrödinger cat; their gender state is in superposition with one another. "...this annoys me, Assassin. This figure annoys me greatly."

**[Pray tell, Contractor.]**

"One could not know the true state of their gender unless directly observed," I mutter under my breath, joining the others into giving Rider of Black a glare. "This greatly irks me so. Repeating countless trials upon determining their gender simply results in a 50-50 split. A travesty of uncertainty, applied upon a being of higher Conceptual Weight like a Heroic Spirit. Did the Throne give up when assigning this Heroic Spirit a gender?"

My familiar is silent, eerily so. A few seconds later, they materialize in front of me and kneel down to grasp my shoulder, flaring the flames coming out of their eye sockets. **[Contractor, never have I met an individual more pathetic than you. If I find your ancestors, I shall take their heads out of spite for siring an offspring already halfway into idiocy.]**

"Try me," I mutter to my familiar, causing their eyes to glint a familiar blue, before shifting into astral form once more. I watch from the sidelines as Rider of Black becomes bombarded with curses and spells, the poor Servant being forced to take the entirety of the Black Faction's punishment in full view of the others. Out of curiosity, I access Akasha, Rider of Black's identity becoming revealed with frightening clarity as I take a step back from the clinically insane Servant.

France. _Of course_ Astolfo had to come from France. There was no turning back – I had to burn the entire country to the ground for this travesty. It was _always_ the French, wasn't it?

**[Thou art merely biased against their kin for siring such... specimens.] **My familiar comments, silence echoing between us before they finally speak their mind. **[Rest assured, not all of them are as... obfuscating as that man over there.]**

"Woman."

**[I care not for their gender. All I care for is whether or not their neck is next on the list. Until then, you can do whatever you like with them. Do remember however, that I am privy to your deeds. It would be remiss to someone of my stature to have a Master petty enough to burn down an entire country to the ground simply to satiate his lust for revenge against a dead** **figure.]**

My familiar makes frustratingly good points. It makes it harder for me to simply torch the entirety of France to the ground. Still, simply staying inside the castle will do me no good, even if it is slightly amusing to see the events which occur within the castle walls. After all, the Red Faction waits outside the walls, and every second the Black Faction spends in shoring up their defenses, the greater the chance they'll be blindsided by whatever plans the Red Faction uses.

By this point, I do not tolerate a lack of information when it could have been easily avoided.

"I shall scout the city for any kind of Red Faction activity."

As expected, most of the Black Faction ignore me, save for Lancer of Black and his Master, who simply exchange glances and give me a nod. With express permission granted to me, my familiar manifests by my side, a plume of smoke covering us before we disappear from the confines of the Yggdimillennia castle.

Onto Trifas we go.

* * *

Jeanne d'Arc sighs while walking the streets of Trifas, her head hanging low and shoulders slumped forward. She shouldn't be stressing out her body like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. While she's sure Laeticia will understand her worries, it's still concerning that after feeling out spiritual signatures around the entirety of Trifas, she has found precisely _nothing_. Not even the neighboring city has revealed up any clues about this mysterious light-bearer whom she has been searching for.

With a sigh, she steps past a cafe, the lingering smell of water staying on her senses. Her eyes widen, quickly whirling around on the spot and grabbing the arm of the figure she just passed by, clamping down onto their arm just as her eyes flicker to silver. A vision flashes across her mind – that of an old, weathered lantern on a pedestal, devoid of any spark of light and nary an ember to light. All alone, sitting in a dark cave, no matches or flints to strike a spark.

She steadies herself as the vision passes, her body now being supported by the young man who stares at her with a raised brow. Her mouth opens to speak just before she remembers the visions which sat at the back of her mind nary a second ago, and she quickly makes the connection between the lantern sitting in the cave along with the light-bearer from her earlier visions.

"It's you," she breathes, a grateful and sincere smile on her face, even as passersby stop and gawk at the scene. For some reason, even the young man seems to flinch at the amount of attention they are currently getting. "You have no idea how much I had searched for you. My name is-"

"Not important right now; we need to find a better place to chat," he cuts off, a grin on his face which reminds Jeanne of a wounded animal. With passersby gossiping amongst themselves about current events in town, he begins leading her across cobbled streets and into a relatively deserted area of town, settling down at a quaint cafe which overlooks the street they have just come from. A couple of drinks coming out of his own pocket, they now sit across from each other, determination filling the air between them.

Jeanne goes first, more out of courtesy than anything else. She leans forward and clasps his hands, ignoring the way they try to wriggle out of her grip, and stares directly at his gaze with stars in her eyes. "I need your help in saving humanity."

"You're a Servant, aren't you?" He asks in return, causing the Maid of Orleans to pause as she blinks and reels back, nodding in response to his question. "You're not oriented with either the Black or Red Faction?"

"I am not," she replies with a shake of her head. "My true name is Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Orleans. I am the Ruler-class Servant tasked to oversee this Great Holy Grail War, as per the rules stated by its reserve protocol. I take it you are one of the Masters partaking of this conflict?"

"Helel," he introduces himself in return, making her eyes widen as she asks him to repeat his name. He does, yet the name still does not change. "This is the name the Association gave me whenever I am currently hired by a third-party. I work as a mercenary in order to do a living. If the job does not endanger human life, then I accept the contract."

"Yes. It's quite a... simple way to live, considering how you live in a time of interconnectivity." Jeanne manages to respond back, even as her mind works at a mile every minute, processing the words her current conversation partner is saying. It's quite an allegorical tone; to set the light-bearer who'll save humanity from the oncoming darkness with a name of the light-bearer. But the nervousness doesn't go away – it becomes worse instead, after hearing the name others had bestowed upon him.

Helel. Lucifer's new name the moment he became a fallen angel, after being cast out from the ranks of Heaven. If the lightbearer's name was merely 'Lucifer', then she would be thrilled at the prospect of another ally joining to defeat the encroaching darkness, but the lightbearer's name is _Helel. _The name of the most-beloved angel after they had fallen. Was that the case for this lightbearer as well? That there exists a chance he will turn his back on humanity at the moment of truth, and leave them all to die under the wrath of that abomination from the murky depths of the deep?

Jeanne doesn't know. Even as her nervousness is plain to see on her face, she takes a deep breath and steels her nerves once more, ready to try again for another shot. "The weather is nice today, don't you think?"

A part of Jeanne's mind screamed hysterically, bawling with tears forming a pool around an imaginary figure. Idiot! Dunce! Halfwit! She has half the mind to bury herself in a pile of pillows and let the day pass on by without much happening! How could she tread upon the topic no one wanted to hear or speak of?!

"Yes, it is. Quite frankly, there's a storm roiling in on the horizon, so I am savoring my last few days of comfort," he replies, sipping his coffee while gazing at the ambling clouds with a small smile to his face. It was either he didn't notice Jeanne's faux-pas, or he was simply that invested into cloud-watching. Nevertheless, all Jeanne can hope to do was listen. "Quite a lot of conflict brewing behind the doors of the Yggdimillennia family. It's like someone's been trying to upstage their position, and they're not going to give it up without a fight."

She meets gazes with him, her brows furrowing while he gives her a thin smile. "And about this 'lightbearer' business of yours… I suggest you don't involve me into it. I have been pretty swamped with a lot of plans lately, and frankly, I may have to ease up on the amount of work I have on hand, and let my employers do something for a change. You have no idea how much of a slave driver they are."

"But-"

"I'm serious." At that, the man frowns. "The moment the Red Faction makes their attack, do whatever you have to do and stay away from the conflict. I've got my own part to play, and I don't think I can handle babysitting another Servant who is not my own. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll resume my observations. And please, don't just suddenly grab a random guy on a street like that. They may get some naughty ideas."

He grips her hands, smoke billowing out from the inside of his clothes before he slowly morphs into a huge, three-meter tall figure with a white mask and flaming blue eyes. She blinks, the surreal sight keeping her sedated for the time being, before the figure removed their hands from her own, folding them atop one another whilst staring at her with a flare of their eyes.

**[Greetings, Maid of Orleans. It seems the charm my Contractor has given me had run out of magical energy. I shall replace it later once I have enough time to do so.]**

Smoke billows out from their skull-like mask, and Jeanne is forced to lean back and adopt a considering expression, her mind trying to classify the inhuman figure in front of her as a threat or not. At the moment, it seems docile, but if something can set them off...

**[Rest assured that today is not the day I take your head. That shall come for later. For now, I do believe you have some questions.]**

It's a massive understatement, if she's ever seen one. "You're not an ordinary Servant, that much I can tell the moment your... _disguise_ wore off. Somehow, it feels as if you are… more _complete_. As if someone had actually summoned a true Heroic Spirit from the Throne, instead of a copy limited by their Servant classes."

**[My circumstances are far less complex than either your or my Contractor's existence. I am naught but a Grand Servant; the highest-lauded Heroic Spirit in my class, incarnated into the form which you see today. My ilk became the basis of what you would call as the Heroic Vessel's. The pinnacle of power, all the while possessing the innate humanity which all Counter Guardians lack. The best of both worlds. You have heard of them from somewhere, have you not? You used to work for Alaya, after all.]**

Jeanne rises up from her seat, taking a step back and readying an arm to immediately summon her flag. "How do you know that?" She asks, eyes narrowed while slowly shifting into her combat apparel. She knows she doesn't have enough mana to keep this form for much longer. She knows Laeticia needs both rest and nourishment. But even then, someone as powerful as a Grand Servant being materialized into a Holy Grail War, by a Master who bore the light against the incoming darkness... "Your Master. He is not human, isn't he?"

The flames seemed to fade from the Grand Servant's eyes. A melancholic tone flowing through the air before they spoke once more. **[...aye. My Contractor is one of these Heroic Vessels who have been summoned to save the Root from the horror you have and will be seeing in the future. As an ultimate deterrent to the rest of them, Alaya had made sure he is only deployed when the circumstances are truly dire.]**

She gulps, staring into the figure's own blazing orbs as they flare once more. "You didn't answer my question."

**[My Contractor is strong enough to wipe out all of his opponents… and any possible opposition.] **The figure curtly answers, **[The greatest Pendragon would be a footprint compared to his power. Even if I impart the concept of 'Death' onto him, it only would marginally work. He is more powerful than the strongest of Counter Guardians, and the Heroic Vessels who rank above your lot. Do you know why?]**

Both of the figure's eyes flared with flames once more. **[...because he is an abomination of the worst kind. A type of individual which is the result of two incompatible energies being forcefully warped into one single thought. Seek me when you have found out the answer, Ruler. Then, I might consider you worthy enough to continue with your quest.]**

With that, smoke covers the entire area she's in, and Jeanne covers her nose as she scans the area around her, summoning her flag into her hand. It soon clears, and she finds herself in the middle of a cobblestone road with no passersby, standing on the streets, instead of the second story of a local cafe. She sighs and dismisses her outfit and weapon, sighing as she is once again forced to search a way of sustenance for both her and Laeticia.

Her footsteps echo through the streets of Trifas, now carrying more questions than answers.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: This chapter was hard to write. Things like describing the effects of an eldritch abomination manifesting itself into reality, placing a peg on the cosmic power scale of said eldritch abomination, and placing the scene of manifestation in a way that won't disrupt story events, or at least makes sense from a narrative point of view. So, I'd like to thank my beta ekaterina016 for taking the time to review this problematic chapter and pointing out possible flaws that the chapter might have in the future.**

**In any case, here's the chapter. Hope you enjoy, and I'll be explaining some of the events that happen in the next chapter.**

**PS: Hebrew's read from right to left. The fact might make it a bit easier if you try to plug it into Google Translate. **

* * *

The third day passes without so much as a hint of the Red Faction's whereabouts. It's annoying, my impatience finally coming to the fore as I sulkily get out of bed and answer the homunculi by my door. Red eyes stare into my own, holding a lifeless look in their eyes, and I wonder if they ever had a chance to live their life as anything more than slaves to the Yggdimillennia family. Then again, homunculi are technically stated to be a part of one's property, the same way children are under the responsibility of their parents. All responsibility which comes with a homunculus's actions are immediately traced back towards the family who owns them.

Not to say there weren't exceptions, but those kinds of homunculi are being studied under the Clocktower's basements as Sealing Designates.

"The Lord wishes you out on the battlefield, eliminating enemy Servants and Masters as you see fit."

I nod, the homunculi stepping to the side as I proceed past my door and onto the carpeted halls. My footsteps are brisk and efficient, going along with the grim expression on my face as I contact my familiar for urgent news. I am lucky to catch them heading out before battle, my familiar reappearing before me, materialized and wearing their battle garb. Smoke flows around them like a cloak, even as they move alongside me while I search for the nearest exit.

"Talk to me, Assassin. What did you find out there?"

**[An attack on this castle, Contractor.]** My familiar curtly replies, drawing a smoky breath. **[They have utilized a flying fortress in order to breach our defenses, with warriors made out of draconic teeth serving as their foot soldiers, swarming our allies from the ground. No doubt, the rest of the Servants are 'hanging' on that flying fortress.]**

"Obviously," I remark, rolling my eyes whilst arriving at a rotted wooden door. A single kick beside its lock plate blasts the door off its hinges, the coldness of the Romanian night seeping through my bones as I take a deep breath and stepped outside. I can hear the sound of chaos coming from rattling bones and thumping earth, along with the flashing of blades and the unnatural whir of energy every Servant seems to possess. My spine tingles in haywire, and I step into the theatre of chaos with my familiar by my side, ignoring the blasts of energy springing up all around the battlefield.

"It's chaos out here," I remark with a small grin, even as a deep rumble echoes from my familiar.

**[When chaos reigns, it is infinitely easier to cut off the head of a snake.]**

"Find a way into that castle," I command my familiar, unsheathing my stiletto and flintlock and holding them ready by my sides. "Force that monstrosity to crash down on a favorable position. Preferably when the rest of their forces are still charging at our allies."

**[Understood.]** With that, a gale bursts from beside me as my familiar leaps into the action, shifting into astral form at the apex of their jump as they begin sprinting towards the looming castle quite a few ways from where I am. The rest of my objectives can wait until I drag that ugly thing down to the ground and smear it with mud.

'_What a blatant rip-off!'_

"Alright, quickly through this door and..." A voice behind me stops, and I crane my neck to glance at Rider of Black escorting a particularly sickly homunculus.

Brown hair and red eyes, the distinctive trait of Yggdimillennia's property is easily shown by the full moon, and a frown forms on my face as I glance towards his escort, who has frozen in place and is currently giving a watery smile.

Rider of Black. _Of course_ it had to be this idiot. "What are you two doing?"

"We're... going on a midnight stroll?"

My raised eyebrow nullified any pitiful excuse, and I could see the Servant's shoulders slump forward and rustle the homunculus' hair. A smile forms on their face, and they turn to look at me. I raise my arm just in time to deflect their lance, the golden tip veering away from my body as I continue on returning them with a smile.

Still, it brings a chuckle when they stare at me with surprise. "Huh. I was sure I used just a little bit more force to knock you unconscious. It seems you have a thick skin."

I don't bother with their idiocy. A charm manifests on their arm, taking them back to the battlefield and cutting off a surprised yelp. Vindicated glee shoots through my body as Caster of Black appears from a mound on the ground, transporting the homunculus back into the castle before giving me a nod of gratefulness. I nod back in turn, watching as Caster of Black close the open door behind them with a quick wave of their hand, and I turn back towards the ensuing chaos with a grin.

My flintlock and stiletto are tossed into the air, a ripple of unknown force slamming them together into an amalgamation of twisted metal and runes. I clap my fingers, gritting my teeth as pain began surging through my body, with each individual rune I have placed on my weapons beginning to glow with an ethereal light. A harsh gasp rattles my throat as I collapse on my knees, with magical energy swirling in chaotic pools, and begin chanting.

––– **Bring the heavens and earth together...**

The space around me twists, the sound of shattering glass ringing through my ears as I feel the earth itself try to consume me in a bid to keep itself alive. I need to do my work, however. Both targets need to be eliminated in order to preserve the Human Order. If Shirou Amakusa Tokisada is able to garner his wish from the Grail... _Humanity itself_ would stagnate.

There is no other outcome. By taking away conflict and ensuring an everlasting peace, Humanity would have no further reason to progress. All living beings go through adversity to become stronger. To live for another day in the hopes of leaving their genetic markers in the world through future generations of offspring. The concept of [Conflict] is essential to the survival of an entire species, and the same applies to Humanity itself. Without [Conflict], Humanity does not grow. All that will remain is a stagnant land of futility. Without [Conflict], Alaya's strength stays the same, all the while Gaia's will grows stronger by the day.

And there will come a point where Gaia will subsume Alaya in its entirety. There will be no Humanity left in the future Shirou Amakusa Tokisada desires.

It's the fear of letting this happen which keeps me going forward, to attain the necessary strength to stop such a thing from ever happening once more. The main reason why I summoned the Old Man of the Mountain as extra help.

Before they cut off the head of the snake...

...I must bring it down to earth first.

––– **[****אני****: ****כתר הבורא****-****האל****]!**

* * *

Gordes Musik Yggdmillennia is _not_ having a good day.

His Servant's opponent is Mordred Pendragon, as that mercenary reported beforehand. That much was clear the instant he saw her beautiful face – _too_ beautiful, in fact, for a natural-born human, as per her legend. Or, rather, it's not as if he could mistake her for someone else… because he spent about half his time in the Clock Tower groveling in front of a shy, timid young girl with the exact same face, begging for her family's investments in his experiments.

The Musik branch isn't wealthy when compared to the family at the apex of homunculi production, the Einzberns, so every single resource is precious. As expected, that young girl was always easily pressured, and only her mentor's timely intervention saved her from his desperate pleas.

That embarrassment was more palatable, compared to going up against her family's current head herself. He might not live to see another day if he did… along with the entire Musik branch of the Yggdmillennia family. Stretching to a time before Magecraft declined, the Pendragon clan's brand of Mystery is rich and powerful, far more so than the average centuries-old magi family. It's more apparent in the current head, Elizabeth, whose strength is enough to match the declining Kaleidoscope in single combat.

Therefore, he trod carefully just to procure the artifact he used to summon his Saber, Siegfried, because that family always pays close attention to all dragon-related objects still circulating in the world, with the leaf Gordes possesses perhaps the single last item available not under the Pendragon's stewardship. Despite being so far removed from British nobility, their actual strength far exceeds that line of their family, almost to the point of a joke.

And now, Siegfried is all but useless against this Dragon Knight Princess.

How?! Balmung should've given him so much advantage, it'll be a breeze against someone whose body is so steeped in draconic mysteries. In fact, in its presence, Gordes estimates she should lose one rank in all parameters at worst, with the simulation pointing to two or three rank-downs on average.

But, now? With her famous sword, Clarent, crackling with frightening energy, she only needs one sentence to disarm Siegfried.

Oh, she's long realized the identity of her opponent. "My body feels sluggish… That sword of yours is a dragon-slayer, I presume? Hmm… not saying anything?" She sullenly clicks her tongue at Siegfried's enforced silence, before continuing, "But _I _am also putting you under passive pressure. Hmm… a dragon-slayer, who has a great connection to draconic blood…"

\- Pon!

"So it's Siegfried, after all," she concludes confidently, her adorable ponytail swaying as she nods vigorously to admire her own 'thinking prowess', clapping her fist into the side of her palm. "Still… You should look behind you."

"Are you an idiot?!" Gordes shouts. "Who'll fall to such petty tricks?!"

At his agitation, Siegfried raises his sword, but Mordred speaks… to the World, not particularly to anyone.

"**Siegfried, lay down your arms."**

\- Thud!

From where he stands, Gordes can see his Servant's shocked expression, as his body is forcefully controlled into a kneeling position. His rippling muscles, strengthened and forged by Fafnir's blood, tremble as he fights the mental order, so the fat Master quickly channels his Od to his Command Spells, eager to break him out of his imaginary shackles as soon as possible.

But Clarent cuts through his arm as easily as if it's air, before a well-placed chop at the neck knocks him unconscious. Before his mind leaves him, however, he comes to one frightening conclusion:

This woman's legendary expertise at controlling dragons is real, after all.

"Relax, fatso. I wasn't even aiming to beat you two. Right now, we have a bigger problem. **Siegfried, take care of this useless Master of yours**."

* * *

Mordred's Instinct flares, causing her to space out for an instant in her battle. However, her opponent does the same, and a hint of worry comes across her face. She lowers Clarent as her instincts begin humming with dread, and she stares past the homunculi and golems, past the Servants of Black, and just before the castle which she can easily blast apart with her Noble Phantasm from here.

No… she hones her senses on the lone figure raising an intricate lantern into the air with a dispassionate expression on their face. She knows him from her first fight since she was summoned – that man was the one who rendered her Master's arm into something resembling a mutilated grape.

Her Instincts also tell her he's the most dangerous individual in the entire world. On the same level as one of those 'Travelers' whom her husband has associated with. Maybe… even more…?

Nevertheless, her arms move on reflex, grasping Clarent with both hands as her sword begins crackling with crimson lightning, shaping itself into draconic wings. With the corners of her eyes, she can tell Siegfried's flashed away with his 'heavyweight' Master and his severed arm splayed across his shoulders, so she can concentrate now.

She raises her sword as a vortex of energy swirls to life around her, her excess mana rhythmically pulsing in waves, and she takes a deep breath in order to steady herself for that one instant.

_'Now!'_

"Bow down to the power of Britain-everlasting…!"

**Clarent  
**_~ The Hymn of Dragons ~_

All the built-up energy of her Noble Phantasm surges outwards, demolishing the landscape underneath her as a beam of crimson light streaks through the night sky. It heads towards the Yggdimillennia fortress, an unrelenting onslaught of power which even most Phantasmal Beasts bow down to in reverence – befitting its title. Yet twenty meters before it connects with the castle and renders it to rubble, a skeletal hand cups the accumulated energy in its hands as the rest of the figure reveals itself to the world, with the sound of shattering glass.

Mist slowly spreads from the wall of the castle, moving across the entire battlefield with unnatural haste. Mordred tightens the grip on her sword, her senses stretching out to sense a threat, while the fog begins to cover the entire area knee-deep in an unearthly cloud. Within seconds, her Instincts scream for her to cover her own ears, and a deathly wail echoes throughout the surrounding space soon after.

It sounds like scraping glass; the birth of an abomination which should not be allowed to exist in this world, or the next. The scream sounds nothing like those coming from a Phantasmal Beast; a completely alien sound coming from those beyond understanding, and all eyes locked onto the rousing figure located right next to the Yggdimillennia castle.

A single, unblinking eye stares out of the figure's draconic head, a lock-shaped pupil glaring imperiously upon the masses below. Chattering teeth clack against one another, the tentacles from the back of its head slowly rising, as if recognizing a threat already. Fine robes made out of mana shift and tear as one of its many skeletal arms raises from its gaunt body, pointing a finger towards the flying palace in the sky. All know what was coming, yet they are unable to stop it – too frozen in fear, awe, or plain shock at the sight of the monstrous being rising from the depths of the Yggdimillennia castle.

Reality whines and cracks, a spinning bolt of energy flowing to life around the figure's finger and aligning itself against the floating palace. Perverted divine energy coalesces into the bolt, dyeing colorless bolt a putrid gold, and is launched upon the palace with almost no effort whatsoever – a mere shift of will propelling the bolt of energy to meet the flying palace's defenses head-on.

Giant arrays spring to life, the pinnacle of Magecraft living in the Age of Gods manifesting to protect the flying palace. As the bolt of energy hits, a deep thrum echoes through the air, striking through the earth and its bowels as the sound of the collision momentarily turns them deaf. Light sparks from the contact of the collision, temporarily blinding all those who saw it as all water around the area immediately vaporizes on contact. Screams begin echoing through the air as others try to regain their senses, while others are now rendered catatonic or laughing mad at the mere sight of the abomination from the Yggdimillennia castle.

Meanwhile, as Mordred's vision clears from the momentary flashbang, her mouth hangs open in shock as the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, one of the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World and a wonder of both science and Magecraft, is reduced to nothing more than warped stone and metal, eerily teetering to the side as it slowly crashes down to earth. A fortress of vanity, destroyed by a singular attack from an abomination which should, by all rights, not exist.

The abomination itself wails once more – whether in victory or something else, Mordred isn't sure. What she _does _know, however, is that such an object can only be defeated by those Travelers on the Reverse Side of the World. But being the Age of Man, they are all but isolated in their own little realms.

Great Britain's founder gulps in both fear and worry at the new and unexpected variable in this War. While it seemed cut and dry at the moment she was summoned... now, she isn't as sure anymore.

* * *

In a place disconnected from time and space, a global model of the world flashes red, informing every single soul on the base with klaxons and alarms. A figure steps inside the room, a calm and steady gait amidst the panicking crowd, and stops just before the globe. Red eyes with slits like those of a snake narrow in thought, idly twirling a lock of their golden hair whilst cocking her hips to the side.

"Romania..." The figure utters, her voice oozing with inhuman charisma, "I can only wonder as to what matters you have in such a place... Enki."

* * *

**אני****: ****כתר הבורא****-****האל**  
**Me: Crown of the Creator-God  
Rank: EX  
Type: Anti-Reality  
Range: 500  
Max. Targets: ∞**

A set of a flintlock and stiletto, carved to the brim with runes coming from the Age of Gods. They are heavily modified components of its real form: a crystalline crown which wraps around the user's body like wings.

They serve as Heroic Vessel ENKI's sole Knight Arm, an amalgamation of its original nature as an abomination of the highest form. Once used, Gaia's Marble Phantasm is negated for up to five hundred meters, allowing ENKI to accomplish feats which are borderline to True Magic itself, like Instant Displacement and Microscopic Time Control. In essence, all individuals who are inside the Noble Phantasm's activation radius are immediately rendered into ENKI's puppets, for ENKI is able to set up laws of physics different from outside Me's area of effect.

Said power comes at a price, however. Once activated, it drains an entire leyline's worth of mana from the user for every hour the Knight Arms remains active, thus heavily limiting its use. Additionally, the deactivation of Me allows Gaia's Marble Phantasm to reassert itself upon ENKI once more, forcefully reverting every change done inside Me's area of effect all at once, rendered upon his body… an experience which produces a lot of pain for the user to the point they will enter shock.

For Heroic Vessel ENKI, it is not a good thing.


	7. Chapter 7

Shirou Amakusa Tokisada staggers upon feeling the quake which shakes the entire Palace. He quickly swivels towards his Servant, finding her usual impassive face gone. Instead, her expression is laced with equal amounts of terror, fear, and anger, her hands balling into fists while standing up to leave the Garden of Babylon on auto-pilot.

"What happened?" He asks, only to find his Servant's icy glare on him, inhumane golden eyes boring deep into his own. A second later, a sigh escapes her lips, holding out her hand as a display of the surroundings outside the flying fortress becomes visible nary a second later.

Upon meeting the figure's lone eye, Amakusa is immediately pulled into a vision, finding himself trapped in the middle of an earthen cistern, filled to the brim with various glowing golden runes. Water from the depths of the Abyss flows in from invisible pores, slowly filling up the chamber, as it quickly engulfs his entire body to the point he is already underwater in less than a few seconds. He holds his breath while scanning the area around him, feeling movement somewhere near him as he swims towards the direction of the sound.

Wails echo through the pitch-black water, coming in from all directions and nowhere at once, as Amakusa stops in his tracks and tries to get a bearing on his current surroundings. He brings up his right arm and activates his Noble Phantasm to serve as a light source, only for tendrils made of the pitch-black water around him to suddenly coil and swell, wrapping his arm until all light is snuffed out. A result of Magecraft, but of an unknown branch.

_'Where am I?'_

He is running out of air, and even though he holds the powers of a Heroic Spirit in his arsenal, Amakusa is without a doubt incarnated into his current form. Thus, he needs to breathe, and he is finding no pockets of air whatsoever. Wails screech around him, the pitch-black water shifting with each and every dull pound, flowing through cistern he is stuck in, yet he knows he is not responsible for the noises. It must only mean he was locked in here with someone... or _something __else_.

Otherworldly terror begins to seep into his bones while his lips tremble, his entire body gasping for air. He bites down on the instinct out of force of will, buying him a few more minutes of air, but without a doubt he _will _die if he doesn't find a way to escape. Talking is out of the question. Any type of light cast down here will be immediately swallowed by the Magecraft-enchanced waters. Gathering his force of will, a dull heat courses through his right arm once more as mana pools around his fist, before rearing back and releasing it all in one blow.

For an instant, light shines through the cistern, and Amakusa opens his own eyes in order to gain a glimpse of how deep the cistern goes. He glances downward, and finds nothing but encroaching abyss. He moves his gaze upward, yet still finds no signs of a ceiling. With desperation settling into his entire body, he turns behind him…

…and sees a single eye staring at him, framed by teeth lashing out from the abyss and swallowing him whole now he can't breathe he's drowning not breathing a sad last gasps escapes the boy saint who can only watch his people die–

_"MASTER!"_

A loud slap echoes through the throne room of the Garden of Babylon, and Amakusa staggers back a few steps as he tries to gather where he currently is. He is alive. He is on solid ground. His knees weaken just as his Servant catches him with her arms – or, to be more precise, her bountiful breasts – a look of concern on her face as she cups his rapidly paling face. "Master, what happened?!"

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and a few more seconds to stave off the inevitable shuddering of what he just saw. "A [Revelation]," he answers, a hand cradling the side of his head as his Servant carries him off to... somewhere. "When you showed me that... _thing, _I was able to receive a vision about it."

His Servant doesn't reply, but he knows her well enough she's all but asking him as to what will happen next. Amakusa's mind flashes back towards the unending abyss of water, before his subconscious slams the memory out of existence and jettisons it from his psyche at full force. "...nothing," he can only glumly add, a frown forming on his face, as a pounding headache begins crossing his mind once more. It's as if his own mind _wants _to lock away that memory into its deepest, darkest, depths.

Not that he can't relate, however.

"That's problematic. An enemy whom we don't know about, suddenly disappearing into mist after the attack on our fortress was done. It seems as if the entity's only purpose was to destroy our base of operations... but for what? My Noble Phantasm can still function, even if it is on the ground; only its maneuverability is severely hindered. It still has the ability to fire its cannons and lay siege to the Yggdimillennia Castle at this distance, much more certainly so since we are still airborne, merely gliding downwards in a controlled fall."

Amakusa lets his Servant ramble, his mind scanning through the hallways at high alert instead. While his own Servant's assessment is correct, he's a bit more comfortable at the thought they can still deploy ground troops in order to pressure the Black Faction into keeping their lines, until they can mobilizer the rest of their Servants to the field.

Or, at the very least, the sole Servant who won't get out of his room. _'It seems history must repeat once more for the fabled Hero of the Trojan War. Sitting inside his tent as the rest of his comrades die in the battlefield outside…'_

While Amakusa can certainly understand Achilles' actions from both a historical and emotional standpoint, it is illogical to simply stew in one place and expect things to turn for the better without his intervention. And while the odds of the Red Faction have certainly been increased with the disappearance of that... _abomination, _their victory still isn't completely assured. After all, at this current rate, the Red Faction is down by three Servants. It is enough for the Black Faction to overcome the quality of the Servants whom they have summoned with sheer quantity instead.

Still, that only means he should take to the battlefield himself, supporting the other Servants in the shadows – just like he always did with his fellow comrades in the 8th Sacrament, during the intermission between the Third Holy Grail War and the Great Holy Grail War.

He nods, content with his course of action, when pain suddenly floods his vision and he is brought to a blank state of being. Another vision, that of a black mist roiling in, the dull shine of a weathered blade tapping against the parquet floor...

––– **[Death].**

"SEMIRAMIS–!"

Too late.

A bell tolls, the sound too hollow to be rung by human means. It's as if the World itself shifts in order to pronounce the sound, one of mourning used by Humanity to signal the end of a life – the very essence of [Death] itself. Yet Amakusa can only turn to his Servant with a frantic gaze, only seeing the dull shine of a blade aiming to part his Servant's neck with unerring accuracy.

**Azrael  
**_~ The Angel who Announces Death ~_

Blood splatters through the pristine halls of the Garden of Babylon, Assassin of Red's head bouncing on the floor with a sickening thud, before motes of golden light begin emanating out of her form. Amakusa's eyes widen as the grip on his body slackens, immediately pulling himself into a ready stance with Black Keys flashing into the mist around him. Beneath his blank face lies a brim of simmering hate, all directed towards the figure emerging from the mist, a combination of a broadsword and tower shield slamming down onto the floor of the Garden of Babylon as smoke bellows from its white, bleached mask. Blue flames smolder from their hollow eye sockets, and Amakusa imagines them staring at him in glee.

As he lays his eyes upon the figure, [True Name Discernment] works its magic, the usual benefits of an Assassin class stripped before his eyes after they have attacked. In an instant, comprehension dawns on his face at the inherently superior version of the Servant class standing in front of him in all of their unholy glory, gritting his teeth at the prospect of facing such a foe without particular help or back-up.

_'Impossible.' _His mind tells him, _'You have already lost.'_

But as Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, leader of the Shimabara Rebellion, there is no such thing as 'impossible', even if the outcome is perfectly clear.

For whether he was facing the Old Man of the Mountain or anyone else in the way of his goals, he will push through. "This is for my Servant, Semiramis, the Wise Queen of Assyria..."

All for the sake of saving humanity.

"...prepare yourself, _Grand Assassin_!"

* * *

Red eyes stare impassively behind a screen, a slightly miffed expression on her face as she watches various feeds from the holograms of Chaldea. She knows she shouldn't feel such a petty emotion – royalty are supposed to be above such petty trifles, after all – but she still can't help but feel the slight pang from not being part of the group being sent into the Singularity. For a chance to make up to her... less-than-savory past.

"Worried about them?" Her gaze moves to the fluffy-haired man beside her, sitting at one of the larger desks in the room and giving her a wide smile. She scoffs, placing her hands on her hips before staring back into the feeds, the passive expression on her face slowly morphing towards barely-concealed irritation.

"It will be best to shut your mouth for this deployment, Doctor, lest you prove you do not require my help in this newest Singularity!" She snarls back, only to hear a patronizing hum coming from his lips. She clicks her tongue in response, eyes centering onto the feeds showing both the Chaldean Master and his consort landing at a meadow close to a castle, watching as they slowly regained their whereabouts.

"Doctor," she snaps, "Basic information about this timeline?"

"The city of Trifas, located at the heart of the Yggdimillennia family, at about 2004 AD. Currently, there's supposed to be a 'Great Holy Grail War' going on, whatever that meant." To her scathing glare, the person beside her awkwardly laughs and tries to curl themselves into a ball. "Your Majesty, I only know of normal Grail Wars. Not something of this... scale. I mean… fourteen Servants and a Ruler-class to mediate battles? It's pure chaos out there!"

"Your opinion is acknowledged." She curtly replies, "Now, tell me where the source of the Singularity is located, so that we can return and bolster our forces once more."

She has a bad feeling at the look of confusion on the doctor's face, scratching their fluffy hair as he tries to make sense of the data given to him. "It says the source of the Singularity... is somewhere off the coast of Iraq. That… doesn't make sense! The Rayshift should've deposited them close to the source of the Singularity, but that's more than the distance they can cover in a few days!"

"As I had expected," she mutters out loud, placing a hand underneath her chin while humming at the feeds. "Then the cause of the Singularity is directly connected to what is happening in Romania and this... Great Holy Grail War you speak of." She falls silent, idly watching the feeds on the holographic display before scoffing and burying herself back into work. And what a lot of work it is.

Ever since Lainur's sabotage, the facility has been on stand-by for half a year. Possibly even more, considering the entire base has been disconnected from the main world line due to TRISMEGISTUS's inherent ability to disconnect the entire facility from the flow of time. It is the main reason as to why the facility survived after the Incineration of Mankind, and also allows for the accurate Rayshifting of both Masters and Servants to Singularities. However, maintenance is still required in order to keep Chaldeas running, and there is only so many staff on hand who could do such a thing. This is complemented by automatons of Da Vinci's design, but even they can only do manual labor or pre-programmed tasks. It is up to her to keep the facility running while Da Vinci ensures the repairs to the entire facility.

"Your Highness, they achieved contact. It seems, however, that this one is... dead."

She looks up from her share of work for the day, humming to herself as the feeds continue on rolling. Some of the staff balks at the grisly sight, but she herself is calm, more or less focused on the artifact which they have tried to hide from view, with little success. Her eyes narrow, focusing back onto the figure, and observes them for any changes.

By all means, the figure should already be dead. Their blood soaks the ground and the plants around them, with stray organs rendered to mush from an unknown force. As for the figure itself, one cannot recognize its face any longer, the skin seemingly turned inside out, and the open chest cavity is already attracting a few flies. A few animals from the surrounding forest are also eyeing the corpse with great interest, more out of hunger than anything else.

Her gaze moves towards Chaldea's Master, finding them hunched over a tree far away from the grisly sight and currently emptying their stomach, his Servant huddled beside him with an unmoving expression on her face. It is interesting, the way she kept a blank face… as if she has experienced such a thing before, and simply didn't want the memories to come back. It's enough to warrant an investigation into this 'Mash Kyrielight' in her free time... if she can somehow pull one out of her busy schedule.

Something's wrong, however. She can feel it. Her hunch is proven true a second later when the body twitched in its entirety, a low wail emanating through the woods and promptly scaring the animals away. The Chaldea Master and his Servant freeze, turning their frantic gaze towards the corpse, only to see a grisly body hanging off the air by about a foot, the blood staining its surroundings slowly raising themselves drop-by-drop.

By this time, she has already pushed her seat back, her eyes gaining a semblance of fear, only to narrow when she turns towards her co-worker manning the controls.

"Get me there," she commands, only to be met with a confused gaze.

It seems like the good doctor is still shocked at the sight.

"What...?"

"I said… _Get. Me. There._"

When he doesn't act, she yanks him by his collar and forces him to meet her glare, pointing towards the holographic feed which now shows the blood suddenly turning into vibrant gold. "You see that? I'm the only one in our entire roster of Servants who has an arsenal capable of dealing with him. I don't care if the amount of work I have to do increases. If I am not Rayshifted there immediately, the Master of Chaldea _will _die, and so will the rest of humanity. **Am. I. Clear?**"

"C-Crystal..."

"Prep the Rayshift!" She commands the rest of the staff, sending them hurtling into action as her [Charisma] takes effect almost immediately. Dropping the doctor back into his seat, she shifts into her battle garb and makes her way out of the Command Center, stopping just at the threshold to glare back at the doctor. "Monitor the feeds. I want to know if _anything _changes, understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness..."

"'Yes'… _what_?"

"...may your order be done, Queen Gilgamesh."

With that confirmation, she whirls around and blasts off at Servant-enhanced speeds, cursing herself along the way towards the Rayshifting room. She passes by a few Servants coming from a minor Singularity to gather materials, but she doesn't have the time to entertain their inquiries, as she all but slams open the door towards her destination and waits for the machine to start.

This is an emergency. No time to waste.

The world is _not_ ready for another rampaging Divine Spirit.


End file.
